


Figures on the Ceiling

by heartinbrooklyn



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Another first time, Comparing relationships, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 05:31:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11502780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartinbrooklyn/pseuds/heartinbrooklyn
Summary: Thomas is the teacher with James.Flint is the teacher with Silver.





	Figures on the Ceiling

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Black Sails fic! It's strange that there is a fic at all, because it's been a while since I wrote and shared something. I kept looking for a story like this, and after not finding it again and again, I figured I'd have to write it. I'm not sure what else, if anything, I'll do with this, but I'd love to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> Unbeta'd - posting before I chicken out.

Thomas is the teacher with James.

Just hours after the dinner wherein James takes two bounding leaps away from the security of a dignified middle-class lifestyle (first the harsh words to Lord Hamilton Senior, and then the soft lips of the son), he finds himself pressed into the prickly goosefeather coverlet of Thomas’ bed. Thomas hovers over him, a halfmoon smile in the candlelight, while James gasps at the tongueflicks against his neck and the gentle rubbing of torso against torso.

He’s never been here with Miranda, their affair mostly carried out in carriages and her airy sitting room downstairs, but his eyes barely catalogue the expensive furnishings and sensuous mural painted on the ceiling. His eye does catch on the latter, just for a moment.

“Are there naked men painted on your ceiling?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically small. Thomas angles his head, and James catches another glimpse.

“Yes. Naked women, as well. They tastefully depict scenes of a Grecian nature. Miranda is quite fond of them, as am I.” Thomas brings their mouths back together and James wars between chasing Thomas’ tongue and sliding his bottom lip between Thomas’ teeth. Thomas nips and James can feel his bottom lip swell. He thinks of Thomas lying here on another night, looking at the young and lithe paintings above him and touching himself.

The thought warms his cheeks and settles somewhere near his groin. He finds himself gasping and his hand flies to Thomas’ neck, fingers settling in the grooves behind his ear and under his jaw. 

Thomas huffs a laugh. “Good heavens, you’re delicious. And warm. And responsive. I’ve been dreaming about you in my bed ever since Miranda lured you into hers.” 

It’s a strange feeling to be accused (correctly so) of fucking another man’s wife while directly beneath that man in a very carnal position. James still feels lost here. He doesn’t quite know how ownership works with these two; what is his, hers, and theirs, and how James fits into any of this. Neither of them seem upset by his attentions towards the other, and on the contrary, Miranda had kissed his cheek and patted him on the rear as Thomas tangled his and James’ fingers and led James out of the study where they’d talked damage control in the wake of the dinner incident.

James had felt like he was going into battle: terrified, but putting on a brave face, and cataloging all the resources at his disposal. He’s heard something of men taking other men like animals, and he’s heard jokes about lamp oil to that effect, but nothing indicative of the tenderness James finds here in Thomas’ bedchamber. The bedding is silken with the small pinpricks of feathers needling through, and it seems an apt metaphor for the bliss of Thomas pressed against James’ front. He’s soft, but he’s hard against James, and James doesn’t know how to translate the tenderness of their kissing into the act that Thomas surely expects to follow. 

“You’re coiled so tightly, beautiful man,” Thomas says like he can read James’ thoughts. “I won’t push or hurt you. We can do exactly as much as you want, and no more.” The trouble is that James doesn’t know the battleground of a man’s body like he does a woman’s, and even though he’s enjoyed women before...this feels like more. The pressure of Thomas’ body against his alone has him panting and practically bucking, and Thomas has been careful to line their forms up with only his leg against James’ privates. 

“I want everything about you,” James tells him, flaming as red as his hair and still meaning every word. Thomas lies his hand flat on James’ stomach. 

“And I want your everything. But there’s no need to rush. Surely now that we’ve uncovered this physical love between us, we’ll have more time yet together. For now, I’d love to suck you, if you’ll let me.” James’ body jerks again at that, and he groans as Thomas laughs softly. 

“I didn’t know,” he starts, and then feels foolish. He hadn’t known that men kissed and ran their hands over each other’s bodies before intercourse, either, but clearly he’s been in the small-minded majority. Thomas skims his hand over James’ cloth-covered belly and pauses briefly, meeting James’ eyes, before dipping his fingers into James’ breeches. He grasps James’ cock with one warm palm while partially sitting up and pulling the cloth away from James’ body with the other. 

“So innocent, world-wise and pragmatic as you are,” Thomas teases kindly, and then James forgets to rejoin the conversation, because Thomas’ lips kiss the head of his cock and his tongue skates underneath the head, and James feels like he’s waking up from the long, hard nightmare of not knowing this pleasure. 

 

 

Flint is the teacher with Silver. 

He tries to remember, and to emulate, how gentle and informative Thomas had been with him. He recalls entire afternoons of Thomas explaining different acts, debating their sanitariness and ability to please, and then the denouement of Thomas leading him to bed and softly starting in. He remembers being so eager that he’d forget his initial doubt or bashfulness, and Thomas had always, always been right about what James would like. 

It’s hard to remember such fine mentorship with Silver squirming on his lap and doing his damnedest to yank Flint’s shirt off, his efforts stalling against their biting kisses and Flint’s hands around Silver’s neck.

“Yes!” he breathes. He gropes his way down Flint’s chest and grabs at his own cock through his breeches. “Holy mother, fucking bloody brasser,” he continues, yelping quietly as Flint’s teeth graze his neck. 

“Would you shut your mouth before someone hears you?” Flint grumbles through his own urge to gasp. He grabs Silver’s ass and hauls him upwards and back a foot, dumping him like a pile of treasure onto his desk. Silver laughs, leaning back to expose the sheen of saliva on his long, tanned throat. Flint can’t help himself; he hooks a finger over the top button on Silver’s shirt and yanks it off; it clicks against the floor and spirals away as Silver’s mischievous hands snake behind Flint and work at the closure of his belt. 

“You’re too fucking wanton,” Flint tells him, blood rushing as he takes in Silver’s form in the candlelight. The pool of light sways as the Walrus crests a wave, and Flint can only see the crescent of Silver’s smirk for a moment. It takes him back with a jolt, and he nearly looks up at the ceiling to spot the figures from that ceiling years ago. 

He wrenches himself backwards just as Silver manages the clasp and Flint’s belt falls to the floor, mercifully empty of blades. 

“Allow me to pause,” Flint says, exhaling to center himself and ignoring the head of his cock pushing its way out of his now-loose breeches. Silver choose not to ignore it, and looks at Flint’s exposure in fascination. 

“We’re needed in an hour, and that doesn’t include the time we’ll need to cool our blood,” Silver points out, hand returning to his own cock and squeezing it through fabric. He doesn’t take his eyes away from Flint, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

“I should be asking you if you’ve done this before,” Flint says. He steps forward and closes the gap between them, though, and rests his palms heavily on Silver’s thighs. 

The smile Silver gives him is blinding and dangerous. 

“With a man? No. But with a milkmaid, several whores, a nurse, two farmers’ daughters-”

“I don’t need the recitation,” Flint snaps, covering Silver’s mouth and arching an eyebrow. The broadside of Silver’s tongue glides over Flint’s palm, and he laughs again as Flint wipes his hand on Silver’s hair and then finds his fingers tangled in the mesmerizing curls. 

“I don’t care,” Silver tells him. Flint notices that the gap between Silver’s legs has gotten impossibly wider, and he finds himself leaning against the cradle of Silver’s groin. “It can’t be any different, apart from the lack of quim, and I’m not averse to making use of someone’s windward passage.”

“Would you be averse to my making use of your windward passage?” Flint asks mockingly, trying to shock Silver as he trails his fingers over Silver’s thigh and towards the orifice in question. He sees Silver gulp, but if anything, the gleam in his eyes only intensifies. 

“Teach me that. Don’t be gentle,” he orders Flint, like he knows far more than he should about Flint’s experiences with men and what they entailed. 

“Don’t give me orders,” Flint grumbles, and then, “Get these bloody breeches off before they get stuck on you, the way you’re swelling.” Silver laughs and complies, and Flint spares one more thought for Thomas and his sweetness before shoving Silver back and swallowing him whole.

Sometimes one learns to swim by diving in.


End file.
